


Descent

by catbythefirelight



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark, Dark Sergio Marquina, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gaslighting, Horror, Past Domestic Violence, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-23
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-28 04:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbythefirelight/pseuds/catbythefirelight
Summary: Ten years before the heist at the mint, two things changed. One: Raquel reports Alberto’s violence and divorces him before having a child. She switches departments to homicide in a desperate effort to distract herself from her personal life. Two: Andres is shot dead in cold blood by a police officer he’d bribed, and Sergio turns his back on his plans, overcome with the desire for just one thing: vengeance.When a serial killer referred to asel Professorstarts targeting dirty cops, Raquel is assigned to catch him. Unbeknownst to her, he’s already two steps ahead.
Relationships: Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	Descent

**Author's Note:**

> If you came here looking for fluffy Serquel, you should probably click the back button on your browser! But if you clicked on this, curious about some dark Serquel, you're in the right place ;) You've read the tags, this story isn't ending with a ride into the sunset (no deaths for Sergio and Raquel, though, nothing to worry about there), so be warned! 
> 
> I had a thought the other day: how could I change Sergio and Raquel's past, to alter their motivations intrinsically and explore darker sides of their characters, while still having their paths intertwine? A version of Sergio who loses his brother too soon, losing faith in his idealism and all his plans. A version of Raquel who doesn't have her daughter to love and raise, instead pouring herself into her work entirely... Well, anymore talk from me would be pretty spoilery, so I’ll let you move on to read the fic!
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm no police officer or even a Spanish citizen, instead a humble writer relying heavily on Google, so if I'm portraying any aspect of the Spanish police force incorrectly, please do let me know!

> _It's like going down steps little by little. Like in those horror movies where somebody goes down to the basement and everybody thinks:_ _“Don't_ _go downstairs. Don't do it." But you do it._

_Present_

Raquel’s arms ached. As she blearily stirred awake, she realized her arms were twisted around her back, cool metal encircling her wrists. There was a cloth pillowed against her face, but she could still feel the noisy vibrations of a vehicle on the move juddering roughly against her cheekbone. When she opened her eyes, squinting, she knew: she was lying at the back of a van.

There was a familiar figure at the driver's seat. She struggled to make out his hair, his glasses, in the glare of the sun rays piercing through the front window. It must be mid-afternoon. When her gaze cleared, his name jumped onto her tongue. 

“Salva,” she whispered, coughing. Her head pounded in her skull as she tried to raise it off the floor of the van. _Wrong name._ “Sergio. Let me out.” 

Sergio’s head jerked to the side. He’d heard her. But he didn’t turn around. His hands fisted on the wheel. 

Something shifted behind her. No, not something, someone—another person, an accomplice. Raquel kicked her legs out backwards, and a male voice cursed, but before she could push herself off her back, a thick hand was clamping a damp cloth tightly onto her nose and mouth. She screamed into the cloth furiously, but her voice was muffled and her senses were rapidly blurring. They were drugging her. Sergio shouted something, but she couldn't make out his words. She could only hear the anger in his tone. 

The idea of his rage being directed at her was terrifying, but not nearly as much as the knowledge she held now. The knowledge of exactly how he channeled the fury inside him. All that fury which had been burning quietly under his skin, even on the nights they'd spent together. 

_You killed all those people_ , was her last thought as she fell unconscious. _Is Angel dead?_ _Am I next?_ _Who_ are _you?_

* * *

_Past_

With his eyes shut, his features relaxed, Suárez looked as though he were sleeping. Like this, his brows were smooth rather than puckered tersely with stress, as they usually were when Raquel saw him at work. 

Except for the bullet in his heart. And the unnatural way his arms were splayed at his sides on the floor, displaying all ten of his fingers which had been gruesomely shattered beyond repair. His phalanges were visible, cracked into several pieces. 

Their killer had been meticulous enough to wipe up the blood. If not, it would surely have stained the parquet floor of Suárez's bedroom. The scene reminded her of the nickname the killer had won from the media— _el Professor_ , dubbed for the scrupulous nature of his killings, not a fingerprint left behind, only leaving in his wake damning evidence of his victims' corrupted actions. As though he were teaching the police a lesson, in some kind of twisted way. 

Raquel felt as if she were intruding on something private, looking at Suárez's body. She always felt like this, looking at bodies. Ten years with the homicide department hadn’t changed how she felt about dead bodies. It was like looking at someone sleeping, except that they weren’t really _there_. It was just their physical counterpart, left behind while their spirit drifted… elsewhere. She wasn't very religious, but she also didn't believe that the afterlife was merely some type of black hole. 

Her train of thoughts brought her back to her present, where she stood staring down at Suárez, watching technicians snap photographs of his torso under her direction. She felt even stranger when she looked at the body's face and remembered that it belonged to Suárez, who had been her colleague, one she'd known for a long time. She had worked with him sometimes when she was still working as a hostage negotiator; and after her switch, his unit was occasionally summoned as manpower when she was hunting down a particularly vicious murderer suspected of being a foreign terrorist. 

If _el Professor_ 's intent was to teach the police a lesson, then the star pupil in the room expected to anticipate the answer to his next question—as to the identity of his next victim _—_ was now Raquel. The previous Inspector on the case had retired the previous day, leaving the burden of responsibility to fall to Raquel's shoulders. All the case files for _el Professor_ 's murders had been transferred to her desk that very morning, and mere hours after she'd started to review them, they had received news of yet another murder. 

“I still can’t believe it,” Commissioner Diego said, sounding faint. He almost never visited crime scenes in person, so he wasn’t quite used to the sight of the dead anymore. But this case was bound to attract attention from the media, and the Commissioner had made an exception. “Another one of our own. What is this, number six? And would you look at all that.” He gestured across the room. 

Raquel followed his finger. Various documents had been arranged neatly across Suárez's bed, proof of Suárez's apparent corruption. He'd been taking bribes from the mafia. It was no surprise to Raquel—many officers did. If the killer planned on targeting every single one of them, he would have his work cut out for him. 

“One of us, but a dirty cop,” Angel was saying from Raquel’s other side. “I can’t believe it. He always seemed such a stickler for the rules.”

"Apparently he wasn't." The Commissioner's expression was grim. "This is going to be a lot of work, not only for Homicide but the Internal Affairs Unit too. They'll want us to do all the paperwork for them, of course... Well, whatever it takes to catch the guy."

“This lunatic thinks he can do anything. He must be stopped,” Angel declared, shaking his head. 

“He’s no lunatic,” Raquel said. It was the first time she'd spoken since entering the room. Angel and Commissioner Diego turned to stare at her. She walked around Suárez’s body. “He’s too cold, too calculated. He planned this whole thing out. No detail escaped him. He even re-arranged the bones on Suárez’s fingers after taking a hammer to them.” She pointed at Suárez’s hands, pausing as the crying wails of Suárez’s wife reached her ears from downstairs. 

Raquel suppressed a stab of sympathy before it could reach her face. _If you show emotion, they'll eat you alive_ , she remembered her mentor lecturing her, back when she'd first joined homicide, fresh off her divorce. She'd teared up while informing a victim's daughter about her father's murder. _It's not like hostage negotiation, where diplomacy and empathy are your best weapons._

She cast away her thoughts, planting her hands on her hips. “ He knew Suárez’s routine, he studied him. He knew to leave Suárez’s body so his wife would find him hours after she'd come back from work. It's almost like he's taunting us with his precision: if we'd been more aware, we could've prevented another death, but it's now been eight hours since Suárez died, and he could've driven all the way to _Lisboa_ by now, out of our reach.”

Raquel turned around, the cogs in her mind turning, and made her way down the stairs without another word. When she was standing at the landing, she saw that Suárez’s wife had been drawn out of the house. _Thank goodness._ She clapped her hands loudly to draw everyone’s attention, and the police officers on the ground floor, snapping pictures of possible clues, turned to look up at her. 

“Any fingerprints identified yet?"

"No, _Inspectora_ ," one of the forensic technicians responded. "None besides Suárez’s and his wife's."

"As expected. Our killer is too careful. Look, I want to see all the records of criminals in Madrid who’ve attacked members of the mafia before,” she announced. “Minus the hotheaded ones who've been arrested for brawling at bars or on the streets. This man is mechanical and perfectly sane, not hotheaded. Well, as sane as one can be for trying to wipe out all the mafia's connections with the police. He must have a death wish, cause he's not only got us after him, but the mafia too."

The officers were nodding thoughtfully. She continued. "He's targeting dirty cops, perhaps  he's been wronged by one before. Maybe it's not him, maybe it's his relative. He's made his grudge _personal_. And he's working fast—his last murder was two weeks ago, the other one almost five weeks ago. If we're following his timeline, this means that another one of our own will end up like Suárez in a week. Maybe even less, if he's excited. We're running out of time, so let's work fast. That's all.”

She walked downstairs, tearing off her gloves. Her team dispersed, going back to their work with heightened focus. Whether their newfound urgency was triggered by her speech or her presence, she didn't know, but she was pleased nonetheless. The police constables guarding the door glanced at her and whispered behind their hands as she approached them. 

She knew her reputation was such fodder for gossip, even the traffic police knew of her. The _Inspectora_ who’d (supposedly) been smacked around by her husband. The one who’d ratted out a fellow cop. The one who’d had the gall to switch from Crisis Negotiations to Homicide, where so few female officers worked. The one who’d worked so hard, she'd been promoted to _Inspectora_ after only five years in the unit. She raised her chin. This was _her_ terrain. It hadn't always come naturally to her, but she'd built everything she was from the ground and up. 

Outside, she peeled off her hairnet and white jumpsuit. Its slippery material crumpled under her hands easily. For a short instant, she was reminded of Alberto, about the few times they'd worked together on the field, prior to her switch to homicide. Until she'd reported him and he'd transferred to Barcelona. 

She shrugged away her memories of Alberto. They were always unwelcome.

Angel caught up with her, working off his own jumpsuit from his shoulders. Raquel glanced behind them to see Commissioner Diego standing at the door to Suárez’s house, frowning, his phone pressed to his ear. 

“I’m going to grab a coffee,” she told Angel. “I need something before going back to the station tonight.” 

“Do you want me to come with?” He immediately asked her. 

_Predictable_ , Raquel thought, but she smiled gently and shook her head. No one had been happier than Angel was, when she'd first joined homicide and they were paired together after his first partner retired from the force. He wouldn't have been her choice of a partner if she'd had a say—but he knew his stuff, and he was loyal to her when it counted. “It’s all right. I think I need some time to breathe.” 

"Oh," Angel said, looking a little disappointed. "I'll see you at the station, then?" 

"Yes, definitely." 

"You might want to check out the Hanoi," Angel added quickly. "It's just a short drive away from the station. I tasted their coffee last week—it's pretty good."

"Oh? I'll try it then. Thanks, Angel."

Raquel ducked under the barricade tape surrounding Suárez’s house. She passed an ambulance, and spotted Suárez’s wife weeping inside, a towel wrapped around her shoulders. A young police constable stood opposite her, looking helpless, his notebook clutched in his hands tightly. When he met Raquel's eyes, Raquel raised her eyebrows at him and he looked away, fumbling in his pockets until he found some tissues. 

It was approaching six o'clock in the evening already, and a sheen of orange was streaked across the horizon. Raquel quickly looked up the address to the Hanoi and flagged down a taxi. She tucked herself into the backseat and passed on the address to the driver. She closed her eyes for a while as the cab jerked into motion, a headache pulsing at her temples. 

It wasn't even five minutes before they pulled up at the Hanoi. She passed some cash to her driver and exited his car. She briskly cleaned off the soles of her shoes on the Hanoi's doormat before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Cool, air-conditioned air breezed over her neck, a welcome relief after spending a full hour covered in a bulky jumpsuit. The low murmurs of customers chatting surrounded her. She walked towards the counter, which was empty except for a bearded man in a brown suit, sipping from a dark gray mug. 

“Hello,” the employee behind the counter greeted her as she sat down. His eyes flitted down to the police badge hanging off her belt briefly, but his smile didn’t falter. “What can I get you?” 

“Just one black coffee." She glanced at the man's name tag. "Thanks, Antonio."

Antonio grinned at her widely. "Coming right up." He plucked a clean mug off his countertop and turned to his coffee grinder, humming a low tune. 

Raquel pulled out her phone, pulling up her contacts list. A new case, especially one as big as the hunt to chase down _el Professor_ , would keep her at her desk till late at night, and she would need to tell her mother she'd be arriving at home late. Her mother would worry otherwise, or forget why she was home alone.

Her call went to voicemail. Perhaps her mother was in the washroom.

“Hi, Mama—” her voicemail beeped off suddenly. Raquel took her phone off her ear, staring at it in disbelief. Its battery had died. Why hadn’t she charged her phone fully in the morning? 

“Shit,” she muttered. She looked up across the counter. “Excuse me, do you have a phone charger?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Antonio shook his head. 

“It's all right.” Raquel looked down. She fiddled with her hands, biting her lip and looking around her. Maybe there was someone here who had a charger. Or else she could go home early, just for a short while. 

But she really wanted her coffee. 

“Do you want to borrow mine?” 

The man sitting at the counter on her right had spoken. Raquel turned to face him. His eyes were oddly piercing as he regarded her through a set of black glasses. 

“You could borrow my phone,” he prompted her as she stared at him, surprised. “If it’s urgent, I don't mind.” 

“Oh, thank you.” She took his phone, quickly dialing in her mother’s number. She tilted her face away from the man, and at the same time Antonio handed her her coffee. She took it, giving Antonio a distracted smile. Her coffee's smoky aroma wafted up into her nose and she breathed it in, closing her eyes as she listened to the man’s phone go  _ring, ring, ring_ in her ear. 

This time, her mother picked up. “Hello?” 

“Hi, Mama, it's Raquel,” she said. “My phone's battery died, so I borrowed another phone to talk to you. I’ve got a new case at work. It’s a big one. I’ll be late to come home today again, I’m sorry. I’ll try not to be any later than ten-thirty, but please don’t wait up for me.” 

Her mother _tsk_ ed. “My hardworking daughter. All right, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Raquel.” 

“See you, Mama.” She hung up. The phone's owner set down his mug. 

Raquel passed the phone back to him. “Thank you so much. It was my mother, I needed to let her know I’d be home late. She worries for me.” 

“That’s all right.” The man tucked his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket, smiling at her. “I understand.”

She smiled vaguely back at him and lifted her coffee mug to her lips, shutting her eyes as she sipped slowly, feeling some of the tiredness behind her eyes fade away. She had a sweet tooth, so it had been difficult for her to get used to black coffee at first. But there was nothing like its ability to rouse her senses when she was exhausted.

The voice of the newscaster on the television behind them drew Raquel’s attention, and she craned her head to glance at it. “At nine o'clock this morning, e _l_ _Professor_ struck again. His sixth victim is none other than a member of the Special Operations Group, also known as the GEO. The name and position of the deceased has not been officially released to the public." The newscaster turned to her partner. "This latest attack is quite concerning, isn't it?" 

"It is indeed. One could even ask, how could the police and the GEO protect Spanish citizens when they themselves are under attack?"

Raquel breathed out a heavy sigh and turned back to her drink. The media certainly wasn't helping contain the spread of panic among the public. Which reminded her, she would have to hold a press conference soon...

“These murders by _el Professor_ ," the man at her side mused aloud. "They're quite scary." He glanced down to her police badge and back up, his eyes following the strap of her gun holster on her shoulders. "It must be challenging to deal with as a member of the police force." 

She felt a fission of annoyance and gritted her teeth—she'd come to the Hanoi for coffee, not for a chat, especially not with nosy strangers. She took another sip of her coffee and turned her head in the man's direction, whose head was cocked to the side with interest. 

"It is," she tried to sound calm, summoning a stiff smile to her lips. She had a feeling it didn't reach her eyes, since he shuffled in his seat awkwardly. "But we try to stay alert and finding those responsible." 

"That's a relief." He nodded. "I'm sure we're in capable hands." He smiled guilelessly. 

She felt a little guilty. "What's your name?"

“I’m Salva,” he told her. “Salvador Martin.” 

“Raquel Murillo.” She smiled and took a sip of her coffee, draining it, a little disappointed that she'd finished it. She passed her mug back across the counter to Antonio, who took it, nodding his thanks. 

Just as she stood from her stool, Salva dropped his wallet. He scrambled off his stool to retrieve it. “Oops, I’m sorry—”

“No, no, it’s all right,” Raquel said, and since the wallet had slid all the way to her feet, she bent down to reach for his wallet. It was made of leather, and warm in her hands from the heat of Salva's palm. As she straightened up, she realised that Salva had approached her, presumably to take his wallet back. 

He was very tall—nearly a full head taller than she was. As close as he was, his presence loomed over her, just for a moment, and before she knew what she was doing, she just reacted to his proximity on reflex. She froze and shrank back a little against the counter, unsure, drawing her arms in front of her chest, barely stopping herself from flinching and stumbling behind her stool. In her mind’s eye, Alberto stood over her, his features twisted in anger, raising his hand to strike her. 

Then Salva took a step back. "Raquel, are you all right?” 

Raquel looked back at Salva hesitantly. He looked back at her quizzically, his stance unassuming. His shoulders were slightly sloped—he wasn't even standing to his full height now. She realized her hands were clutching tightly to Salva’s wallet, holding it tight across her heart like a shield, and she felt silly. Her cheeks flushed red. 

She’d reacted as if some stranger was Alberto. She chastised herself. One man, and she’d flashed back to eight years ago as if the whole business with Alberto had happened only yesterday. 

“No… I mean, yes, I’m okay.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m not myself today.” 

“That’s okay. I have my bad days too.” He smiled kindly, his eyes crinkling at their corners, and she slowly relaxed, allowing her hands to drop to her slides. She did like his smile. He was handsome, in an approachable, friendly way, like a school teacher. She wasn't sure how her mind had projected Alberto onto Salva so abruptly. 

The psychology of trauma was complicated, she reasoned with herself. And it didn't help that time had done little to resolve her own. 

She reached out, holding out his wallet to him. 

He reached out to take it, and their fingers brushed. She felt hyperaware of their brief touch—it had been so long since she’d had more skin-to-skin contact than simple handshakes with a man. 

It was too much, too soon, though. No matter how nice Salva seemed, she didn’t know him, she reminded herself. It was time to get back to the station, anyway. Her eyes flickered to the clock. It was almost six-thirty. 

“I must go,” she told Salva, and he nodded, waving a hand. 

“Don’t worry, go ahead,” he told her. “I’ll see you another day? I come here often. Every day, actually.” He smiled, self-deprecating, inclining his head in Antonio's direction. “It’s his coffee. It has me hooked.” 

She laughed. "Okay. I'll see you." 

As she hurried to the exit, her mind already charting her next course of action on her case, she was completely unaware of Salva’s eyes on her, dark and unwavering. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're a little confused about why Angel is still Raquel's partner here: in this fic, Angel was in the homicide unit for his entire career. 
> 
> Dark Sergio/Serquel fics seem to be a rarity, so I admit I'm a bit nervous posting this! Please do let me know what you think in the comments, and of course kudos are appreciated as well! xoxo


End file.
